Safe In Your Soul
by Loz.Loola
Summary: Sam/Jess. Still in my heart this moment or it might burst.
1. Chapter 1

**Author:** Lauren.

**Rating:** Rated M.

**Character/Pairing:** Jessica Moore, Sam Winchester, Sam/Jess.

**Summary:** Still in my heart this moment or it might burst.

**Disclaimer:** The storyline and AU scenario is mine. I claim nothing else.

**Author's Note:** I don't think this will be a one shot because I have tons of ideas for scenes and such so ya. Look forward to that. As for the continued Sam/Jess I seem to keep spouting, accept that I love them, him, her. Why did they kill her? Stupid, stupid move Eric. You've made Loz mad now. Anyway, please review if you read, I love them and if you put something real nice I might even reply. Stay pretty kids.

* * *

What's happening between them, she can't decide. It isn't concrete or solid or something she can measure. Not that she wants to, she's fine with what it is. What is it? She swears they're friends with benefits, but when he holds her, her heart tells her otherwise.

The morning after the night before he shows up at her apartment to find her folding laundry. You weren't there when I woke up. She can taste the hurt in his voice and turns to him, hand on her hip, hair curly damp from the shower she'd taken an hour ago. We slept together, it doesn't mean you're my boyfriend. But it does. Oh it does.

And his face crumples and she wants to kiss it all away. But if she doesn't make a stand now, they'll fall into couples territory and that's the last thing Jessica Moore wants. She explains the concept to him slowly, and he reacts… differently than she'd expected. Friends with benefits. Labels. Rules. It's how she separates what they're doing from love.

But his concern, his only concern so it seems, is when he can see her again. And that's new. No guy has ever said that before. She hides her shock behind a throw away laugh and a promise on her pink lips that this won't be the last he hears of her.

And thank God it isn't because when it happens again and her fingernails leave half moon imprints in his back, she could swear that she could do this forever. But she grew up on football and hard drinking and domestics that lasted weeks and she doesn't think that Sam Winchester's lopsided grin would understand any of that.

But when he talks about his family, his grumpy scruff of a dad and a brother who drives him insane, she feels like maybe he knows. Maybe.

And when he traces his hand across her stomach and she shivers inside but doesn't show it, he asks the questions about the scar by her left hip. She tells him she fell off a swing and by the look in his eyes he knows a liar when he sees one. Truth be told, it had more to do with a broken beer bottle.

There are times when he reminds her of things she thought she'd left behind. Like when he gets jealous. Jess has never seen anything like it, mild mannered Clark Kent becomes Superman in the blink of an eye. And she witnesses it herself one night he finds her in someone else's lap.

She hates him that night, curses him to the high heavens and back again. But still in the morning she's tracing the outline of his head in the cold, cold pillow and wishing that she hadn't insisted he left before her room mates woke up.

They don't often fight but when they do, she's usually the instigator. Always because he got too close, she's scared, he's all over her and she can't take it. She can't be Jessica Winchester, she screams at him, she can't. And he doesn't speak for a long time after that. But then she comes back to him, forces him to look at her, squeezes his hands until it hurts her, because being hurt by him is better than not being with him.

She loves the way he holds her. When she's asleep and he thinks she doesn't know, he crushes her body against his, knots his fingers through hers and breaths her in. She knows it because she does the same. Takes him in when no one else is watching.

The first time they met it had been the same. She'd been all short skirt, blonde hair skimming bare shoulders, swinging hips. He was trying to have a conversation with someone else. Trying because she could feel his eyes on her body, on her face, on her hair. Failing because he couldn't stop looking. So she was appearing not to care that he wanted her, when in truth she was singing on the inside.

He loves me, he loves me not. She remembered the games she'd played as a little girl with her sister. Something about six feet tall and ending up with nothing at all. They'd been morbid kids, what could she say?

With Sam she was never sorry. Not until she found him fumbling in a drawer. And she caught a glint of metal before he turned his back on it, his mouth drawn tight like purse strings. Lying purse strings and an unreadable expression.

That night as he slept she ran a hand across his face and tried to loosen the tension gathered in between his eyes. Serious even in his sleep. Only Sam Winchester. So she'll never tell him the truth, the boy is too burdened already. He won't know of possessions and greedy tongues of fire licking at her edges and screams that grow vacant in the empty night. Of Fathers who disappear and reappear unexplained and Mothers who stare off into the distance while the paint peels and the water boils on the stove.

Maybe one day he'll find her fumbling inside her drawer. Maybe then they'll have some truth between them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author:** Lauren.

**Rating:** Rated M.

**Character/Pairing:** Jessica Moore, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Sam/Jess.

**Summary:** Still in my heart this moment or it might burst.

**Disclaimer:** The storyline and AU scenario is mine. I claim nothing else.

**Author's Note:** I love them. So freaking much. I know it's kind of short, but I've already got another update ready so ya. Review if you read, kay thanks bye.

* * *

That night he clung to her like a drowning man and she'd never felt so close to someone in her whole life. So she wrapped her legs around his waist and held on for dear life because something told her that this was a phase for him. That he'd move on. But she never would. She never could. She didn't ever, ever want to.

Crashing and hushed voices and a strained silence and light. Pop. Light.

"Sam?" she sounded husky, and her lips felt swollen on her face, betraying exactly what they'd been doing all night. And who was this guy? Good looking and shorter than Sam and smiling at her.

Girlfriend? Who was that? Jess wanted to look around the room to check he wasn't talking about anyone else. Someone who was more presentable than her in her Smurfs t-shirt and mismatched striped shorts.

My brother. Dean. Really? She remembers his name, it catches in her brain, something Sam only mentions on special occasions and when he does it's with intensity. Anger. Sadness. Regret.

And he's hitting on her. Typical. She feels awkward, which hardly ever happens and she knows it's because of Sam. The normal Jess Moore would have been returning fire and making jokes about her pyjamas and probably bedding this Dean character before the night was over. But he's standing right by her, he moves like, like. Protectively. Is that possible?

They're talking about family and Sam tenses and Jess hates being put in the middle. In the end they're downstairs and she hunches up in the hallway, listens for snatches of words. Dad and poltergeist and Amherst and devil's gate and Chilton.

Then she's pressing herself into the sheets and hugging her arms around her body and praying that Sam's coming back to her.

And he does. But he's leaving. If she's the girlfriend, then she's going to start acting like one. Ask ten million questions, none of which he can answer, starting with 'when are you coming back?'

He throws stuff haphazardly into a bag and she can't help but feel a flash of envy in the pit of her stomach. He'd drop everything to go with Dean, would he do the same for her?

When he holds her against him, runs a hand through her hair, breaths her in for a second, she almost tells him the truth. Almost tells him about the gun loaded with rock salt she has hidden in her bedside cabinet underneath condoms and chap stick (she has all the flavours, she can never quite decide.)But she's too scared and he's too leaving and God she'd break his legs if she thought it'd make him stay.

Then it's all tail lights and corners and gone. She sits up until morning on the laptop, but it's all just staring at a screen. Waiting to press the enter button.

Searching for Samuel Winchester.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author:** Lauren.

**Rating:** Rated M.

**Character/Pairing:** Jessica Moore, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Sam/Jess.

**Summary:** Still in my heart this moment or it might burst.

**Disclaimer:** The storyline and AU scenario is mine. I claim nothing else.

**Author's Note:** If Supernatural had actually happened like this, I think it would have been amazing. Not to say it isn't now, but I love Jess and wish she'd never died. :( Please review if you read because I live off of them. Thanks guys.

* * *

The time he's gone drags by and the days blur and before she knows it she's spending her days hiding behind her hair and her nights crying into takeout boxes of ramen.

Grease 2 rolls on repeat and the flickers of light from the screen become a part of her. Why isn't he back already? Why won't her clothes stop smelling of him? Why can't she be more steel than chocolate?

Thirty times a day she wishes Dean dead for taking Sam from her. And then she prays for them both every night. Old habits die hard. White patent Mary Janes rubbing red on her heels. Momma couldn't afford heat but she bought Sunday shoes.

But she never called him. She was proud of that. She wasn't his girlfriend. Jess didn't belong to anyone. Never has, never will. Never pressed the green button. Never begged.

Professors ask her when Sam's coming back to class. She doesn't know, shakes her head, all a blur of blonde, says she couldn't tell them (and she doesn't want to, Sam's hers, all hers.) Everyone's disappointed, she forgets that Sam was popular. Is, if he comes back.

She sleeps with a line of salt thick on her window sill. Hands curled into fists, body ready for a fight. The gun in her drawer on show now, no longer hidden beneath nameless items.

Dreams of black eyes and flashing light and always her Dad slamming doors. Always crying into the bathroom sink, chin against the clammy, cracked porcelain. And until Sam that had been all she'd seen so she'd never be sorry. Even if all she knew from now on was wanting him, she refused to regret anything. Jessica Moore, with her Stanford education. Round of applause please.

Cookies had seemed like a good idea at the time, nice girls welcomed boys home with baked goods didn't they? That was until she realised she had no ingredients. Her room mates just smiled and laughed and watched as she grabbed her purse and rushed out of the dorm.

Double doors sliding open, pinging bells, the cashier eyeing her as she wiped a smudge of flour from her cheek that she hadn't noticed before. Hurried thanks and feet pounding the pavement. When had it started to rain? Tiny beads of water slipping down her back, sticking her shirt to her shoulder blades. Jeans hugging her hips just a little too tightly.

Flashing lights and sirens. And fire. So much fire. Spilling and scorching. Smoke and people and someone crying. Then an animal scream that sounded like something had died. Something inside her died.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author:** Lauren.

**Rating:** Rated M.

**Character/Pairing:** Jessica Moore, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Sam/Jess, Dean/Jess

**Summary:** Still in my heart this moment or it might burst.

**Disclaimer:** The storyline and AU scenario is mine. I claim nothing else.

**Author's Note:** Sorry it took me so long to update, life gets in the way, ya know. But I've missed this story so I'll try to do better next time. As always, detailed reviews are much loved and to anyone who has commented, or favourited or whatevered, I heart you all because you keep me pushing on. (:

* * *

She was _so_ cold. And _so_ tired. Her hands ached like she'd been pricked with pins all over. Eggs and chocolate chips and sugar lay spread across the asphalt of the street. She'd fallen over. And been picked back up again.

People stepped back from her, afraid they'd get sucked in. She wasn't surprised. They were dead. All of them. Charred and empty. Charcoal shells of humans.

Jess. Sam.

Thank God you're okay. Was someone speaking? He squeezed warmth into her hands and she could have cried, but she had nothing left.

He carried her to the car because her normally strong legs apparently didn't work. Even if she could have walked, she wouldn't have done, she wanted to be held, wanted him to hold her. He stayed in the back with her even though Dean shot him looks that read of brotherly mocking. Stayed and held her against his chest. Nose pressed into his neck. So close she could feel his heart beat like a flush across her face.

Cookies would have been nice. But motel sheets were okay too, even though she'd rather be lying on Sam's skin. Dean talks to her in a low tone like she's slow and she tells him she isn't, to which he laughs. It's gruff and deep in his throat and she wonders if his Father laughs like that too. Because Sam doesn't.

He brings her water and it tastes like salt. Like tears. She asks him if he knows why her friends died. He looks away and she knows that whatever he says next will be a lie.

"It was a house fire."

"Sam doesn't know that I know about all of this," her voice is steady, even though she feels anything but inside "And I'd prefer it if we kept it that way." She looks up at him, her eyes pleading implicitly for his silence "For now."

A curt nod and a slammed door and she's alone again. And she wants to throw herself against the wall because feeling anything is better than feeling nothing.

Sam comes back from the vending machine and he's all cold on the outside but he's warm, oh so warm underneath his clothes.

They lie silent for what feels like years before he says he's sorry. She covers his mouth with both of her hands and he stares. And stares.

She wonders if Dean will tell him, when they're standing by his car (an Impala.) She wonders if Sam will be mad or upset or want to punch something.

She sleeps. But only because if she doesn't, she'll have to see their faces. It's worse when she's awake. When the fire is on her skin and the smoke is up her nose and her hair burns and curls and blackens. Crackling and bubbling and disappearing before her eyes. Flames always make Dean flinch and she wonders why, wonders if he lost someone too. Wonders if she could cut him and they'd bleed the same blood.

Apparently they haven't run far enough yet. In the diner a nearby couple are reading aloud from a newspaper. Terrible. All of those students, so promising. Only one survivor, she was out of the house…

Retching, she slams her back against the wall, crosses her arms and digs her nails into her arms. Crossing and cutting back. Sam stands away from her and she tells him the truth, all of it. Every last detail until she's empty.

And then she walks away, shoes grinding the gravel, curls up in the backseat and stares into the foot well.

Would I lie to you?


	5. Chapter 5

**Author:** Lauren.

**Rating:** Rated M.

**Character/Pairing:** Jessica Moore, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Sam/Jess, Dean/Jess.

**Summary:** Still in my heart this moment or it might burst.

**Disclaimer:** The storyline and AU scenario is mine. I claim nothing else.

**Author's Note:** I loved this update too much to add stuff onto it to make it longer so you'll have to accept the length, because... well ya. Love it please. And review it please even more.

* * *

Her Father hunted. In the beginning it was just stories when he wasn't drunk, but Jess had always believed. Even when she could smell the whisky on his breath. Even when she'd patched up his stitches, aged ten, needle in one hand and the bruises he'd given her the night before on the other.

Loving fiercely came easily in the Moore household. Her Father was a weapon and her Mom the ineffective shield. A shield with holes isn't a shield at all though is it?

Sam still hasn't looked at her. Driving for hours on bumpy roads with the radio blaring Metallica and he couldn't even afford her a glance backwards, not once. So she stared out of the windows and pretended the scenery interested her just to keep from wishing he'd look at her.

She knew that she loved him then. When she was willing to be pathetic for him. When she knew she'd crawl on the ground if it meant he'd forgive her for keeping it all from him. When with one word she could have set him free from his own guilt.

They stop at a garage and she bursts out of the car, heading towards a patch of trees on the far side of the forecourt. Runs hands through her hair, settles for jamming them in her pockets. Sinks her teeth into her bottom lip until it hurts and she's sure she can taste coppery blood.

He's behind her, she can tell because the breeze suddenly stops. He always was a very effective wind break. It's the height.

"Sorry I'm being a jerk."

He isn't being one, but it's nice to hear all the same.

"Sorry I lied by omission."

He laughs and she thinks it's probably the most beautiful thing she's ever heard.

"Can we be friends again?"

No, never. But they aren't together either. And she's still facing away from him so she just offers her hand backwards and feels his fingers knot with her own. Shutting her eyes, her eyelashes tickle her face. The sun comes out from behind a cloud.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author:** Lauren.

**Rating:** Rated M.

**Character/Pairing:** Jessica Moore, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Sam/Jess, Dean/Jess.

**Summary:** Still in my heart this moment or it might burst.

**Disclaimer:** The storyline and AU scenario is mine. I claim nothing else.

**Author's Note:** Thanks for the comments guys, you're all my true loves. Let me know what you think of this, I love hearing your thoughts. Enjoy (:

* * *

The shower runs hot and then cold and back again. She stands under the spray until she's soaked through. Stock still until she can't even open her eyes. Her hair sticks in curls to her shoulders, her back.

She still hasn't said it, still can't make it come out. Three words, eight letters. Of all the lies she's told, it's the one truth.

Dean tells her about Mary. Flowing blonde hair and a white nightgown and heat scorching his face. Take your brother outside, run. And she cries, but she isn't sure if it's for him or herself. Or Sam.

And every night when she thinks she could just walk out of the door without looking back, she feels his arm sling itself loosely around her waist and she knows that she could drive a million miles and still belong to the boy asleep in the crappy motel.

It frightens her. Knowing something so deeply that it could be written in her bones. Maybe it is. Maybe on an x-ray someday it'll say his name.

She gets quicker. Learns their ways, their own peculiarities, the ways they like to hunt. Dean is all about the pursuit, the pay off, the crunch and burn and over. Sam is more preparation, research and theories and constantly tapping keys. Jess knows she's somewhere in between, she just hasn't quite figured out where yet.

But she loves the indulgent smile Dean gives her when she saves his ass (for the twentieth time, she isn't sure why he's constantly putting himself in the line of danger.) When he's lying in the dirt and she offers a hand and pulls him up into the air.

They're a funny juxtaposition, the Winchesters. Brown and blonde and wary and friendly and guarded and warm. And she discovers that they're indefinable, and that she is too. That she fights and cries and drives and kills. But she does it all for the taste of Sam's mouth, for Dean's laugh, for the rumble of the Impala. And sometimes, when she can spare it, it's for herself.

There's blood, so much blood, she's crimson with it. And if she wasn't so delirious she could swear Dean's eyes are wet, but maybe it's just concentration as he shouts for stitches and alcohol and gauze. Sam's running back and forth, his long legs shadows in the room. Dean keeps murmuring to no one in particular and she doesn't like it, keeps trying to catch what he's saying, even if she couldn't understand. It had caught her off guard, and swept her right off her feet, claws ripping skin and piercing muscle. They hadn't even known she was in trouble until the screams. Maybe her stubbornness really will kill her this time.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author:** Lauren.

**Rating:** Rated M.

**Character/Pairing:** Jessica Moore, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Sam/Jess, Dean/Jess.

**Summary:** Still in my heart this moment or it might burst.

**Disclaimer:** The storyline and AU scenario is mine. I claim nothing else.

**Author's Note:** I realise that I pretty much condensed the whole first part of the season two finale into like what, fifteen lines? But you know me, I don't dwell and I have a lot of ideas and stories to tell and there really is no storyline here so I'll be skipping between the stories I liked on the show and ones of my own. I plan to introduce Ruby, split up the brothers and cause some conflict there so expect angsty angsty angst from me. Well, when do you not expect it really? But yes, please review if you read, I love them and as always, thanks lovelies.

* * *

She loves Sam's shoulders. They're straight, firm lines when she lives in a hazy, vague world. Especially when they're drawn together because she could fold herself into him then, press herself against his chest then and never be free because the air hitches in her throat. Like a knife through butter.

Breath hits her like a kick in the gut and she's bolt upright, awake and in pain. She's sewn up now, stitches woven in her skin and she knows that it's Dean, knows that this time he put her back together. Sam's gentle snoring brings her back into the room and she tries to let his presence soothe her but Jesus Christ she's in fucking agony.

The air is heavy and sticks to her skin and she's wearing the Smurfs t-shirt from the first night. But it isn't as simple as it was then. Was it ever really? She's alive, she's sure of that now, even though when her eyes had shut before, all liquid and still, she was sure it'd be the last time.

But apparently not. Certainty is a commodity these days and Jess hasn't felt sure of anything for a long time.

Sometimes, when she's alone, she thinks about all the things they'll never have. Birthday parties, anniversaries, friends, a home that isn't on four wheels. And then, to comfort the ache in her stomach, she thinks of all the things she does have. Love (even though she can't say it,) Sam, Dean, the hunt, a dysfunctional family of three. And the fluid things that don't fit into either category, there she hesitates. Marriage? A baby?

She knows she's a fool but still she dreams of a crib and a left hand heavy with a diamond and worrying about something other than the daily battle between good and evil.

Sam disappears. One minute he's in a diner, artificial light splashing across his features as he orders pie for Dean and onion rings for Jess because she can't live without them, and the next he's gone.

They bicker all the way to Bobby's about the best way to locate their lost Winchester, and they're still fighting when they arrive. Bobby merely raises his eyebrows and shuts the door behind them. But there's nothing to be told and they sit silently because she can't say that they don't know what they're doing, even though it hangs tangibly in the air.

It seems like the world is ending. The Road House lies in charred ashes around their feet and she can't help but fear the worst. They must all be dead, nothing optimistic ever happens in their lives anymore.

Cold Oak, South Dakota. Who knew Dean was psychic but when he keels over with his hands cradling his head, Jess knows better than to doubt him.

Moonlight and God she's so glad to see him breathing her heart skips a couple of beats. With an easy smile he's Sam again and their names are on his mouth and she knows she'll be kissing him within seconds and she realises that above all else, that's the only certainty she'll ever need.

Love isn't rational. In fact it's probably the most unreasonable thing in existence. It pumps through your veins until it fills you up and it transcends everything. Even Death. Death.

Sam's dying. She isn't even sure how it happened but there's a flash and a slice through the air and he's falling forwards and it's endless. They're both flailing and feet pounding and her heart is too big for her chest and breath scrapes inside her throat.

He can't even speak so there are no last words, it's all Deans' pleading but she's too full of regrets and grief and it sears through her system and it's the second time she's felt like this and once was enough. And she's never loved this fiercely before and she'd give him her insides if it'd save him. Dean's tears do nothing to slow his passing, and it's so fast, oh so fast that the light is gone before Jess can even count to five. And it's funny, almost funny, not funny, how this is the end and it's Dean crying and Jess isn't. Jess isn't. Jess isn't anything at all.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author:** Lauren.

**Rating:** Rated M.

**Character/Pairing:** Jessica Moore, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Sam/Jess, Dean/Jess

**Summary:** Still in my heart this moment or it might burst.

**Disclaimer:** The characters are Eric's, the storyline is mine.

**Author's Note:** Okay so basically I'm a dumbass and I somehow managed to upload the wrong chapter. So this is the real chapter eight and it's all sorted now. Sorry for the confusion guys (:

* * *

It's blood. Love is blood around her and she can't escape the film. The gauzy texture of life, because it doesn't shine without Sam. Nothing does.

Bobby keeps offering food and Dean is volatile and lashes out at the smallest of things. And Jess. Jess is breathing.

Sam is next door. And she remembers all of the times. When they first met and he couldn't stop looking. His lips tasting sharply like citrus from the shots they drunk during I Never. And the friends with benefits phase. She'd pushed him far away when all she wanted was to hold him close. And Dean showing up in the middle of the night and being torn away from him. And being torn away again but this time with the sour taste of finality sticking in her throat.

He's cold, she can't touch him and Dean talks to him and she can't hear what he's saying but she knows he's crying again. His voice is thick when he tells her he's leaving but swears he's coming back. Promises mean nothing anymore, Sam said he'd never leave her.

On the night after the fire, he squeezed her and whispered soothingly into her hair that he'd always be here. And now he wasn't. And who's fault was that?

Dean is trying to talk to her but she's off somewhere far, far away and he gives up but not before kissing her head. She stares down at the brown of his boots as he leaves because she can't stand to see his face, not if she never sees it again. She almost knows what he's doing but she might as well be dead for all the use she is in dissuading him. She loves Dean but realistically, how long will they survive without Sam? She's already numb.

And she's alone with him. Sam and Jess. She wonders if she's secretly into necrophilia because she still thinks he's beautiful. And infinitely more peaceful than he'd ever been in life. It takes a good hour before she can bring herself to curl her fingers through his. But once she does she can't let go so she slithers in beside him.

Lying there she can nearly pretend that they're asleep in yet another sleazy motel and if he wasn't fully dressed, this could be any other night.

The moon hangs lazily in the sky as if it's forgotten what it's meant to be doing and she wonders whether Sam is in Heaven. She never asked him what his would look like so she imagines it now to distract from the fact that her fantasy is rapidly dissolving because normally Sam would have an arm strung across her waist. He could never sleep without touching her.

Then she cries. It's a release, an awful liberation and the tears are free flowing and salty as they run unchecked down her face. Living within the parameters of hunting, death had always been an option. A daily test. Do you live today?

Sam had been stolen from them. Anger welled in her lungs and she wished that the cowardly bastard with his knife hadn't run off so quickly and that she hadn't been so absorbed in Sam, because otherwise she would have made him pay. Maybe she still would. Find him and rip him to shreds. Maybe that was her new purpose.

Gasping and he almost knocks her to the ground as he sits bolt upright, panting and in pain. Arms knotted around his neck and never wanting to let go and her mouth searches out his and a hand clamps on his chest, just to feel his heart beating out a steady rhythm beneath the fabric of his skin.

She wants to ask how, but she's too thankful to consider the implications. So she just kisses him until he asks about Dean and she tells him the little she knows, leaving out the word death. When he returns he's full of the joys but he can't meet her eyes and Sam insists they go to Bobby's, so Dean drives (as always) but he's a chauffeur and not a willing passenger.

And when they arrive she holds him back and promises they'll just be a minute and that seems to satisfy Sam but the second the door closes she slams Dean against the car and demands answers. He averts his gaze and she wants to punch it out of him but they're both too fragile for that. So she settles for pinioning him to the Impala with the surprising amount of upper body strength she has until he agrees to tell her the truth. And he tells it all.

She stands stock still and listens, and even she's surprised by how stoic she's being, maybe it's because she knows Sam is watching from indoors, or maybe it's not. Maybe she's just sick of crying.

He expects a response but she can't quite conjure one so she comes out with the best she has. 'You kissed a demon?' in a horrified voice and it's cheap but it works because he laughs gruffly. He hugs her, clinging to her for just a second longer than she'd anticipated, but he just needs the familiarity and she does too so they both let it happen.

She stands outside even after he slopes indoors because she needs a moment to collect herself. Jess needs a minute to sort through her emotions because she's lost and regained so much in the last 24 hours that she's beginning to resemble a human yo-yo. Sam was gone and alive and dead and then breathing again. Dean has a year to live. The dysfunctional family of three is complete again. And all the time, Jess has this strange tingling on her skin like maybe something's on the horizon. She just can't quite tell what shape it's taking yet.


	9. Chapter 9

**Author:** Lauren.

**Rating:** Rated M.

**Character/Pairing:** Jessica Moore, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Sam/Jess, Dean/Jess

**Summary:** Still in my heart this moment or it might burst.

**Disclaimer:** The characters are Eric's, the storyline is mine.

**Author's Note:** Okay, so this isn't actually a new chapter, not trying to lie to you or anything, I just messed up and now it's sorted and I intend to properly update soon. (:

* * *

It's shocking really, how quickly they fall back into the normality of life. Or at least, their relative version of normal.

And Jess isn't ready for the vigour with which Sam throws himself into the hunt, not when only hours earlier she was crying over him. Him as a corpse. She wants to tell him to slow down, hold him back, just keep him. And she wonders if she'll always feel like this with him. Please Sam, just stay with me. Am I enough to make you?

Wyoming is the place to be according to Bobby and although it's shaky, it's all they've got so they pursue it.

Jess may have grown up with a drunkard for a Father but he taught her a thing or two and Devil's traps came up at one point or another. Iron has never felt so comforting to her.

Sam starts spitting out theories and Jess tries to ignore them because they're clouding her head and she can't concentrate. An old cowboy cemetery. Special children. Sam. The Colt. And it's full of why he was taken and why he survived and all she can think is that he didn't survive. Who is this?

They're all getting agitated because no one's speaking anyone's language and Jess wants to scream because the testosterone is finally getting to her. Why she agreed to spend so much time in such a small space with so many men is beyond her.

She needs a minute but Sam is right behind her and she wonders if he understands the meaning of the word space. He reaches for her hand but she pulls away because she knows that contact comes before an abandonment. Lesson one in the Moore family, never trust a man who wants to hold you close.

"We have to go there."

She doesn't ask who we is or where there is because she knows and it might turn out to be fruitless, but it won't because nothing is ever safe in this fucking world for Sam Winchester. "Are you asking for my permission?" the hard edge in her voice suggests a strength or a power she doesn't feel.

"No." At least he's honest, she comforts herself with that.

She nods, inhales, tenses. "Go get yourself killed then."

"Jess…""Don't," she backs away, raising her hands, in full protection mode. After all, it's what she does best "Because if you- I'll never want to let go and it isn't the same for you. It isn't the same.""You don't think I want to stay with you? Stay safe for you?" he's loud and angry and there's a twist in his voice that sounds like aching.

"You do what you want Sam," she shrugs now, feeling helpless as ever and hating it, tasting the detest like rot in her stomach "We both do."

He holds her then, and she wants to whisper all of the truth into his ear. I love you and I've seen what life is like without you and I'd rather not live at all if that's what it has to look like.

He murmurs into her hair and it feels like raindrops so she screws her eyes up tight against the sting.

Dean's shouting about leaving so Jess folds herself into the back and stays silent because nothing she says makes sense anyway.

Why does everyday feel like the end?


End file.
